Climb Every Mountain
by genies
Summary: Harry travels the world and meets old demons. Alternatively, he learns to move on. Updated on Sundays.
1. Chapter 1

Written for two challenges at Caesar's Palace: Challenges by the Dozen (level 7: write a 7-shot that you update every seven days), and Four Elements Challenge.

That's right, this story will be updated every Sunday.

Also, this was originally posted on my main, but I'm moving it here.

* * *

Harry Potter had never been outside of Great Britain, and he reminded himself of this when he approached the teller in the booth and said that he would like, yes, one portkey, please, to China, preferably.

The woman didn't spare him a glance as she slid him his visa. Hermione had done excellent research, as usual, to find a travel agency that celebrities held in high regard. The name Harry Potter was spelled in gold letters at the top of his form, and he didn't know how she could have missed it, especially when he handed over his passport with his picture (and his scar) big enough for a blind man to see. He looked a little scruffy in the photo, even though Hermione had insisted that he dress nicely (these passports last for years, Harry!), and his lips were pulled into a reluctant and grim smile. He felt his feet itching to get out of this office. It wasn't his idea to go on another adventure; he'd had enough adventure to last the rest of his life, thank you very much.

"Is that all, Mr. Potter?" the woman said amicably. "Just a portkey?"

Harry looked up from the brochure that he had been leafing through. "Sorry?"

"No translating charms, or clothing to fit in? No glamours?"

Harry shook his head. "No, thank you." He intended to do the glamours by himself, and he had a small book titled, Common Chinese Words and Phrases (Wizards and Witches Edition), in his bag. It's more of an authentic experience to feel that helplessness of being immersed in a foreign language, than the experience of having a translation charm cast, you know?

"All right, Mr. Potter. Here's where you'll be staying for the first three nights. This hotel is a five star hotel, and you've the Master Suite. Every day, your translator will meet you in the lobby and take you to the different attractions in the city. After that you'll take another portkey to Yun Nan…"

Harry nodded along soundlessly, wondering why on earth Hermione thought this was a good idea.

"This portkey will take you to the bottom of the mountain. Have a safe trip!" She chirped.

"You too," Harry replied, before cringing and unwrapping the portkey.

* * *

Harry's stomach churned upon landing. No matter how many times he had all of his atoms taken apart and put back together, he just couldn't get used to it. He had left London in the afternoon, so nothing was visible save for a few lanterns. "So this is Yellow Mountain, huh? What a beauty."

He supposed that it would be dangerous to apparate now, since he had no idea where he was going, and the visitors center that he was portkeyed next to was closed. Fitting, since it seemed to be…he cast a tempus charm...4 in the morning.

"Well," he said to himself, a bit ruffled. "I suppose this would be a good time to try the goh-yah thing that Hermione is always going on about."

She had invited him to join her on a few of her trips to the local yoga studio, but he had politely declined each time. After Hermione had introduced him to her mind healer and that meeting went very awry, he wasn't sure what recommendations he thought would fit him. Plus, he much preferred to stay in his his bed at Grimmauld Place place and exist in a cocoon of his own reality.

He used to listen to the radio throughout the day just to have some noise (the silence of the house unsettled him at first), but after the talk show hosts started to interview war heroes and ask them the most insensitive questions, he wasn't in the mood to hear anything. Occasionally, he would turn on the music station and hear some cheery witch chirp a song:

 _You came back once_

 _And left me twice._

 _But that's all right,_

 _That's really all right._

 _Because I am stronger than your petty games_

 _And the words you left inside my brain_

 _That are screaming, screaming for me_

 _To get a move on._

And he found that song quite unattractive. So it went that he spent all day under the covers, sleeping some, staring at the ceiling some.

He moved his stomach in and out, focusing on the breath traveling from his core to his nose. He knew he wasn't doing a very good job of meditating if he was thinking about all of these things, but he didn't feel very excited about sitting here in the dark until the shop opened.

"Ah, fuck it," he mumbled, eventually. He got up from his cross-legged position on the ground and opened up Common Chinese Words and Phrases (Wizards and Witches Edition) to a random page. A painting of three, stern wizards graced the page, each dressed with traditional Chinese garb and hair. They were three brilliant wizards who were among the first wandmakers in the world. These wands weren't sophisticated, or really wands in the traditional sense. Beads carved and smoothed from the wood of blessed bonsai trees were good conductors of magical current, and they used these beads on necklaces and bracelets to cast healing spells. Unsurprisingly, as Confucian schooling became a norm throughout wealthier Chinese cities, some of them were wizarding schools, and these three were educated there.

Harry shook his head, marvelling at the number of things he never knew. Given, he'd been fighting a war, but Hogwarts' history of magic seemed rather limited to Europe. It was surprising to hear that other places had advanced this far, as well, and even farther than Europe had at the time.

"Ni Hao - hello, informal. Nin Hao - formal." Harry read these words aloud, fitting the words between his teeth and tongue. "Nee how. Whoa shang yow pee jew." He cringed. Of course his accent would be horrible. But learning how to order beer was definitely an important skill that he'd need to utilize multiple times during his stay.

The hour passed quickly, and soon the May sun was peeking over the horizon. Maybe fifty other tourists had passed him already; sunrises at this place where very popular, apparently.

Not long after, the owner of the tourist shop came to open shop.

Harry groaned, shaking his legs in a very much needed stretch and climbed to his feet. Yellow mountain was gorgeous in the mornings, yes, but he really would have rather spent the night in a hotel.

"Could you by any chance direct me to the hotel?" Harry asked.

The man handed over a portkey. "Have a good stay."

Harry hoped he would.

* * *

Harry entered the lobby and checked in, feeling more tired than he had been when he got portkeyed to the hotel. He didn't know that he'd be the type to get tired during travel, but then again the last time he has done any extensive road tripping he'd been on a horcrux hunt. Harry looked around him. It looked like the hotel was a Wizarding one, since he saw a few quidditch players eating breakfast (sporting their club jackets, of course), and...was that the prime minister of England?

Harry sat his things down in the dining area and was looking over the drinks menu when a familiar (and grating voice) sounded nearby.


	2. Chapter 2

**1\. Past Enemies**

* * *

"I'd like some of tofu soup and the black sesame seed balls," a prickly prim voice said.

Harry recognized it better than he recognized his own voice as it managed to croak, "Pansy."

He hurriedly covered it with a cough, trying not to draw attention to himself. He hadn't meant for that to come out. He smiled sardonically, thinking, _Hermione, you usually have good ideas, but I can't even go farthest east without being surrounded with these people_.

Pansy closed the menu with a snap, and Harry crumpled his napkin. He didn't want to be childish about this, but he had just stayed up all night. He told himself to calm down. He was being rude. The war was over, and he coould get on with his life. He fought to rationalize. Even if Pansy's presence sent him into almost an anxiety attack as he reverted back to war-mentality, she never was a Death Eater. She had changed; they'd just been scared and confused teenagers.

Harry pushed himself to his feet. _Walk to the buffet line. Walk to the buffet line._

He picked up a tray and a bowl, scooping some xi fan and pickles into his bowl. It looked suspiciously like mush, but just rice instead of oats. He could deal with this.

* * *

Harry put on his coat and stood.

"You know, you don't have to use chopsticks to eat soup. They have spoons for a reason."

"What?" Harry turned around.

"People use spoons here."

Harry shook his head and swiveled back to the doorway that he intended to exit through. "Thanks. I'll keep it in mind for next time."

"Hey, Potter, you don't need to be so rude. Can't two friends have a friendly chat?"

"Friends?"

"Yeah." Pansy pointed to the spoons. "They're over there. Next to the soup."

"Thanks. I don't know how I missed it."

"I might have an idea," Pansy muttered under her breath.

"Anyway." Harry hurried off.

* * *

Harry shoved his hands into his coat pockets, huffing into his high collar. What did Pansy want? A friendly chat between two friends, had she said? What kind of spell was she under?

He picked up his pace, feeling the awkwardness slowly slide out of him. Hiking _was_ rather relaxing.

A wind blew across his cheek, and he could almost feel the fog seeping into his skin. The craggly stone beneath his feet and the flimsy stair rails made him nervous, but all thoughts of falling faded when he caught sight of the bird that flew near the rising sun; the whole scene was surreal.

"It's beautiful isn't it?"

Harry immediately frowned. How did he not hear her coming up behind him? And how did she find him on these paths.

"I couldn't help myself," Pansy said. "I struggle sometimes..."

Harry stared at her blankly, waiting for her to continue. Inside, a myriad of feelings were covering his innards. Regret, anger, empathy.

"I'm sorry, you know," she said finally.

"Well," said Harry. "I actually didn't."

"I'm glad we cleared that up. I'm sorry about everything. My family members' lives were on the line. I was so sure we were going to lose. I was so stressed. You were just there. And I'd never really known you. And-"

So this is what the morning encounter was about. She had been doing something Harry never thought her capable of: feeling guilt.

Harry cut her off. "Don't think of it any longer. What's done is done."

They stood there, staring from the trails into the lofty distance, surrounded by the verdant but sparse foliage.


	3. Chapter 3

**ii. past fears**

* * *

Harry pushed open the curtain with a wistful sigh; the crooked tree outside looked as if they held infinite wisdom. "Do _you_ know how to solve all my problems?" he might have asked it if he were desperate enough. He could only wonder what kind of wand its wood would make. He hadn't hiked as much of the mountain as he had hoped but his portkey was scheduled to open at nine this morning, and he wasn't about to miss his transportation to Shang Hai.

As he headed down the elevator (after spending a few seconds figuring out how to use the buttons), he wasn't sure how he'd acclimate to the sudden city atmosphere. The way his brochure described it, it was overflowing with people. He hadn't been in a truly large city since visiting muggle London. He doubted that the bustle of Hogsmeade could compare.

He wasn't exactly sure what he'd do when he got there. There was so much to see and so little time to do it.

"Morning," he said to the person at the desk. "Potter, scheduled for a nine A.M. portkey to Shang Hai."

And with that, he was off.

* * *

He was plopped down right in the backroom of a store. Boxes and chords piled high around him, and he wondered if he had been put in the right place, or if somebody had abducted him. "Hello, sir. This is a portkey landing," a voice answered his question. It sounded fakely pleasant and rehearsed enough for him to believe. "Just a concealed one. It's hard to portkey into muggle cities."

Harry dusted off some imaginary dirt from his collar. "Why don't you have a Wizarding portion of the city sectioned off and warded?"

"There aren't too many wizards who want to visit Shang Hai for vacation."

Harry wondered why for a moment; Hermione would later tell him that pureblood supremacy ran rampant in some parts of the city. But she also added that the portkey was linked to Apple for marketing reasons, with some distaste in her voice.

"Thank you for your assistance," Harry said. "How do I get out on the street?"

"Follow me."

Harry was led out into the floor of the store, which had a large collection of muggle electronics that he'd never seen before. His guide pointed at the door and disappeared back into the back room. Harry had planned to dive right into his list of things to do, but the child playing with what was called an i-Pad was much too interesting. He almost wished, now, that he had asked for a translating charm.

He picked up one of the tablets and inspected it. It was almost like black obsidian on the front, but it felt like glass. He fiddled with the buttons, mimicking the child next to him. "Ah," he said. The screen lit up.

And so about two hours passed while he learned how to play Angry Birds.

* * *

Harry finally managed to extract himself from the i-Pad. He would have bought it if i didn't cost so many yuan. Now that he was on the street, the world felt a bit more confusing.

He hadn't been forced to read a map in a very long time, and the roads were confusing him. He wanted to get eat some baozi, dammit! A bit of soul searching and map turning eventually led him to a steamed bun place. Outside, a line curved around the building, and Harry got in it witout any complaints. His brochure had informed him of how popular this was going to be. The soup was thin, but flavorful, and the baozi were unlike anything he had tried before. Eventually, he learned to use his spoon to prevent the hot broth from splashing everywhere as he bit into the baozi.

He set down his spoon with a groan. Where was he going next? He couldn't possibly imagine. He reminisced on older times, trying to remember what he had been afraid of. He was always the brave one in the group, the one diving back into the flames to retrieve a declared enemy, the one who had the ideas of standing back against an all-knowing, all-powerful power. How does a single man conquer one who's aspired by god and has the goodwill of the people?

Harry had been scared of the future. And now that the future was here it was a lot more fun.


End file.
